


Teach Me Your Lessons, Teach Me Your Touch

by AJ_Constantine



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJ_Constantine/pseuds/AJ_Constantine
Summary: It’s Christmas, the lights are twinkling in the shop window, there’s eggnog and brandy, and their camaraderie of centuries veers into a new direction for the first time. Aziraphale finally decides that what he wants for Christmas are particular lessons from a particular demon…“Oh.” Aziraphale breathed, looking at him with luminous eyes. He took a step closer, and hesitated, as if not sure what to do next. Then a considering look came over his face. “That woman you mentioned. How did she… teach you?”Crowley blinked. There was a pause like an invisible shudder as they locked eyes, then he said slowly, “To start with, I had to learn to like being touched. I wasn’t used to it, you see, and it was rather… a lot at first.”“I… see. And… do you like being touched now?”Crowley swallowed hard. He pushed past the impulse to deny, to expose a vulnerability, but if there was any being in existence he trusted to show his underbelly to it was the angel standing before him. “Yes. Very much.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 167





	Teach Me Your Lessons, Teach Me Your Touch

**Author's Note:**

> _This is my very first fully Beta'ed work by the fantastically awesome[Vios_Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=vios_shadow)! I cannot say enough good things about how they helped me make this a better story in so many ways and pointed out my tendency to write overly long sentences like a preschooler on a sugar high. I am endlessly thankful for their input. _
> 
> _This story is a Christmas present to all of my wonderfully delightful supportive readers, an angst free spicy holiday gift._

“But how did you get past the alarms?”  


“Oh, I seduced the guard into telling me the codes. That took quite a bit of serious temptation work, let me tell you, but eventually he gave in.” Crowley said offhandedly.  


Aziraphale’s blue eyes were stern with disapproval as he looked over the rim of his mug filled with eggnog heavily laced with brandy. “That poor man, being tempted into lust by you, what kind of choice is that?”  


Crowley choked on his swallow of brandy laughing. He had spurned Aziraphale’s offer of eggnog— _But it’s Christmas, Crowley, it’s tradition_ — and no amount of pointing out that Jesus has never had so much of a sip of that cloyingly sweet concoction in his short time on earth had deterred Aziraphale from insisting that it was, indeed traditional and that they should partake of it on this particular day of the year. But Crowley held firm, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the disgustingly creamy substance that looked like something a seagull might spit up. He availed himself of the brandy cheerfully enough, amusing himself by periodically lighting the surface on fire.  


“Believe me, ‘that poor man’ had the time of his life, he was more than happy with the trade.” He paused, chuckling. “They always have a choice, angel, I can be very persuasive but I’m not actually irresistible.”  


Aziraphale sniffed. “Well, I’m sure you did what you had to when following orders from your side.”  


Crowley raised an eyebrow, hesitated, then said, “You do know that sex feels good, right? I mean, _really_ good? When I did it, it wasn’t always out of duty.”  


Aziraphale rolled his eyes and said snippily, “Well, yes, I’ve surmised as much, as humans seem to do it far more often than they need to for procreation but _I_ certainly wouldn’t know firsthand.” He shifted in the armchair, tugging down his jumper, then looked down to tug at a loose strand of yarn as he said, “I’ve never been able to figure out how you’ve managed to do it; we’re both supposed to be above all of that kind of thing.” Abandoning the errant yarn as a lost cause, his fingers moved to his mug, turning it around in circles.  


Crowley looked at the angel consideringly with his golden eyes, his sunglasses long since set aside. Christmas day had been full of Aziraphale’s fond looks and easy camaraderie. _Oh do come over for drinks Crowley, it’s the least I could do since you helped me decorate for Christmas._ Earlier in the week Aziraphale had cheerfully ignored Crowley snapping, snarling, and protesting about Aziraphale’s pestering to not only help, but do it the human way, which took far too long in Crowley’s opinion for a temporary choice in décor.  


He had drawn the line at untangling the string of lights by hand though; pretty sure there was a special level in Hell where damned souls did nothing but that for all eternity while a demon wearing a Santa Claus suit cracked a peppermint whip at them. 

Aziraphale had tut tutted at Crowley’s miracling the lights up in the shop windows, but then stepped in close to pin a sprig of mistletoe tied with a red ribbon to his waistcoat, murmuring _There, now you look properly festive_. His hand rested on Crowley’s chest for a moment, his lashes lowered as Crowley froze, his arm half raised in mid flail as he was in the middle of gesticulating some point that suddenly entirely escaped him. Then after a long pause Aziraphale turned and stepped away to fuss over the draping of the lights. Crowley nearly tripped over his own feet as he spun away while he scoffed loudly at the idea that wearing a parasitic plant made one festive, but made no move to remove it.  


Several days later Crowley was, in fact, still wearing the mistletoe when he sauntered through the bookshop door in the early evening on Christmas, a fact that did not seem to escape Aziraphale’s notice if the lingering look and small curl to the edge of his lips was any indication. Aziraphale's nod to comfort on Christmas was forgoing his usual button down shirt and waistcoat; instead wearing a soft cream colored cable knit jumper. Crowley noted with some amusement that his brown trousers had a subtle tartan pattern to it, as if the angel couldn’t possibly exist without interconnecting stripes adorning his corporation.  


Their time together on Christmas had started with a common enough pattern; Crowley flourishing the brandy as if it was a prize he’d won and Aziraphale complaining about the increased stream of customers this past week with unreasonable expectations. As if it was somehow his responsibility to magically produce the perfect last minute gift for an Uncle Chester that they only saw once a year and had no bloody idea what type of books he liked.  


And when Aziraphale gleefully produced an array of colorful frosted biscuits in holiday shapes, Crowley knew exactly what would happen. He would decline, Aziraphale would wave one at him and say _oh, let me tempt you_ , Crowley would swallow down the impulse to reply _You tempt me every day_ , and instead respond with the usual _Isn’t that my job?_ , to which Aziraphale would roll his eyes and keep insisting until Crowley gave into whatever he asked. Although today something different happened that deviated to their normal formula. After Crowley dryly said the customary “Isn’t that my job?”, Aziraphale looked directly at him and murmured, “No, I’m rather beginning to think that it’s my job after all.”  


Crowley’s prepared retort died on his tongue as he had absolutely no idea how to reply to that; but before he could think of what to say Aziraphale had already placed the biscuit back down on the plate and stood to make something holiday sounding creak out of his gramophone.  


But now as the angel sat in the armchair across from him, turning his mug around, there was a flicker of something like discontent in the angel’s face. No, not quite discontent. It was the same look that Aziraphale had when he felt he had to abstain from certainly earthly pleasures for fear of chastisement from Gabriel, the look he gave sweets he didn’t think he should be allowed to indulge in.  


Crowley hesitated, then said slowly, watching Aziraphale carefully, “It took some effort to learn to be more, erm, flexible, but I found a good teacher who was more than willing to help me learn. She was very patient with me. It was probably around this time of year, come to think of it.” he said musingly in remembrance. “Not much else to do when the weather’s this bad.”  


There was a new, odd sort of silence that hung in the air. An absence of noise poised on the edge of words never before spoken between them. There had always been a period between them, a finality to the end of a sentence that was never continued. This conversation was skittering close to continuing past that period— actually, it was already far past skittering; it was dashing past the period with the haphazard force of a run on sentence. Crowley had wondered what the story between them might be like past that period. But the few times he had ventured too close it had been obvious that Aziraphale most definitely did not share that curiosity and so he had learned to be reasonably content with things as they were.  


Aziraphale abruptly stood up from his armchair, looked around as if unsure why he was standing, and walked over to his desk, lifting a paper up to look at it before immediately putting back in the same place, smoothed his hand down his jumper and then leaned against the desk as if that was his plan all along. He studiously looked at his mug as he said with a sharp note, “Well, I imagine you were able to be more, erm, _flexible_ as you say because you’re a demon. I’m sure angels don’t have that particular flexibility.”  


Crowley considered Aziraphale from where he was sprawled on the couch. He should brush it off, change the subject, tuck this memory away with countless other ticks in time when Aziraphale didn’t _quite_ conform to their carefully laid out rules, both spoken and unspoken. Aziraphale was leaning against his desk in a pose that Crowley imagined the angel thought looked casual, but had a stiffness radiating out from his body that was almost palpable. He was holding his favorite mug, a white one with ridiculous angel wings that was utterly useless as a handle, but he was gripping it so tightly that the ceramic made a cracking sound that arced in the silence between them. Aziraphale looked down at it with a frown, repairing it with a thought.  


Without conscious thought Crowley found himself standing up and slowly walking over to Aziraphale, feeling for all the world like he was stalking something elusive that he could only see out of the corner of his eye. He leaned against the desk and said, “You know as well as I do that we’re basically the same. You could learn to be more… flexible. If you wanted to.”  


Blue eyes flicked up to him and he caught a glimpse of something— _old_ in them; as if a flash of Aziraphale’s true form leaked out of its tartan clad shell. More odd still, that flash contained that odd sort of wary longing he’d had before— but then the fleeting expression was hidden by the angel swiftly looking down again at his mug as if it was utterly fascinating what humans could do with white ceramic and a dull imagination.  


Crowley felt his world shift briefly on its axis, overriding what he considered to be his common good sense. He found himself moving forward as if pulled by a magnetic force until they were only a handspan apart.  


He watched his hand slowly lift as if it belonged to someone else and settle against the smooth surface of Aziraphale’s cheek, his thumb reaching out in a slow glide. His voice came out gravely and low. “I’m a very good teacher, Aziraphale. Would you like to learn?”  


Aziraphale’s eyes snapped up. “Er, uh, no, of course not, don’t be ridiculous Crowley.” he said, with an edge of breathlessness to his voice.  


Crowley expected Aziraphale to dissemble as always; to look away, step back, wave his hand dismissively. But for the first time instead of pulling away the angel was leaning forward, eyes wide, lips parted slightly. And that expression was back; the longing no longer fleeting but written across his face as if he was a child’s book in large block print. Crowley could feel— could almost _taste_ — the change hovering between them, resisting the urge to flick out his tongue and absorb the thick honey sweet air laced with a bite of sharpness.  


“You should know by now that you’re a terrible liar angel. I don’t know why you even bother trying.”  


Crowley considered his options as quickly as his rather astonished mind could manage under the circumstances. If Aziraphale actually wanted a lesson… he lifted a long finger upwards where a surprised sprig of mistletoe found itself transported from his waistcoat to the ceiling.  


“First lesson. You’ve been ignoring tradition, surprising, really, considering what a stickler you are.”  


Aziraphale blinked, his eyes following the finger upwards and frowned. “I hardly think that a plant cutting inspires the right kind off—”  


His words were cut off into a surprised sort of _“omph”_ as Crowley closed the distance and kissed him.  


His hands slid around Aziraphale’s face, caging him lightly between his fingers, _I’ve got you, I’ve got you, don’t fly away_. He fully expected the angel to flinch, to protest, to pull back, but to his wonderment Aziraphale didn’t move aside from his eyelids fluttering closed. He could have been a statue but for the warmth of the lips Crowley pressed against, the increased puffs of air against his face, and perhaps the slightest tremble in that stocky frame.  


Crowley knew he should stop, pass this off as a random impulse, a lark, but when Aziraphale continued to not object he pressed the light movements of his lips down more firmly in that ancient dance as he leaned closer. One of his hands moved down and found itself grasping a handful of the sides of the soft jumper, using it as a handle to pull the angel flush against him. He could feel the soft curve of a belly press up against him, stirring up a desire to move down and rub his face against that warm plushness like a purring cat.  


The fact that Aziraphale wasn’t moving finally trickled through his dense reptilian brain. Regretfully Crowley pressed his lips forward one last time and started to draw back. But as soon as their lips parted the barest amount Aziraphale made a small noise of protest in the back of his throat and _followed_ his lips. Kissing him back, tentatively at first, but with more vigor as he seemed to gain more confidence.  


Crowley had some kind of vague intent in the dim recesses of his astonished mind to keep the kiss gentle. A soft initiation to this new step towards intimacy, but as Aziraphale began pressing more insistently into him, wordlessly asking for more, he responded to that unspoken plea. He gently sucked on the angel’s lower lip, his tongue reaching out to glide along it.  


Then Aziraphale moaned and Crowley took advantage of the parted lips to slide his tongue forward, deepening the kiss, their tongues meeting, sliding together. He could taste the lingering cream of the eggnog, far more tantalizing from the angel’s mouth than it ever was from a cup.  


He had kissed before; inspired lust, experienced desire, tangled his limbs with another until satiated but this… none of those experiences felt like this. Like hovering with wings outstretched in the wind, like turning the face into the first spring rays of sunshine, like taking that step over the threshold of— _home_. Crowley’s heart rang loudly with something that held the echo of what angels sang in Heaven, but instead of singing praises to God he felt a ringing of _angel, angel, angel_ resound within him, causing him to press closer into that unexpectedly pliant body that seemed to soften further against him.  


Then the mug slipped from Aziraphale’s nerveless fingers and crashed to the floor, breaking and splattering eggnog all over the floor and their legs. Aziraphale jumped back, looking down in dismay, his cheeks flushed and freshly kissed lips glistening. 

Although Crowley personally felt that the angel winged mug was improved in its shattered state, he snapped his fingers in irritation and the mug repaired itself, white splatters disappearing from their clothing.  


Aziraphale’s fingers found their way to the ring on his pinky finger, twisting at it as his wide eyes fixed on the ceramic mug. “What are we doing?”  


“I should think that to someone of your intellect it should be fairly apparent.” Crowley said dryly, turning to his comforting use of sardonic wit to cover up the maelstrom of emotions hammering with the force of a caged storm within his chest.  


“Yes, well, uh, I…” words failed the normally verbose angel, who attempted to cover his discomfiture by picking up the fallen mug and moving over to the liquor cabinet to refill it. He ignored the egg nog and poured straight brandy instead, then steadily downed most of it in one long swallow. After that he stood with his back to Crowley, unmoving with his head bowed.  


_Shit shit shit._ Crowley hesitated, that hovering change in the air losing some of its sweetness and saturating with the familiar bitter tang of denial. He closed the distance between them, stopped, ran his hand through his hair, made an abortive step towards the door and said, “I—I’m sorry angel. Do you want me to leave?”  


There was a silence that felt heavy, of old rusting iron in a long neglected junkyard.  


“Right then. I’ll just go, have a uh, Merry Christmas and all that rot. See you la—”  


Aziraphale spun around and grabbed Crowley’s arm, his fingers digging into the lean bicep as he hastily said, “You can’t go, it’s _Christmas_.”  


Crowley looked at him in bewilderment. “What in Heaven does that have to do with anything? You know it’s a made up date anyway; Christ wasn’t born anywhere near the end of December, it’s just because—”  


“I know, I know.” Aziraphale interrupted, his eyes fierce, looking at Crowley with an earnestness as if trying to convince a priest of something that would fundamentally change his religious beliefs. “But it’s the _spirit_ of the holiday that matters!”  


“And the spirit of the holiday is what? To get shagged?” Crowley asked cheekily, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. Although his head was still spinning he had the clear thought that maybe if he could turn this into a joke Aziraphale would forgive him, they could go back to the way things were, no harm done…  


“No!” Aziraphale spluttered. “It’s a time to um, connect with your lo— those you care about, in a um, meaningful way, and one could say it’s become a traditional time for new beginnings—”  


Crowley smiled crookedly and put a finger on Aziraphale’s lips, silencing him. “You don’t actually have to convince me to stay, you know.” _I’ll stay for you angel. I’ll always stay for you_.  


His finger lingered as they looked at each other, then Crowley dropped his hand and started to turn away, saying “Come on, maybe I’ll choke down some of that eggnog that you keep trying to shove at me—”  


Aziraphale’s grip on his arm tightened, keeping firmly Crowley in place who broke off and looked at him in puzzlement.  


“You— I—” Aziraphale stopped, then a determined look settled over his face. He lifted blue eyes to meet golden ones.  


“I have a flat upstairs.”  


Crowley looked at him askance. “Yeah? So?”  


“The thing is… sometimes I go up there as it can be quite satisfying to stretch out in a bed to read.”  


A… bed? He stared at Aziraphale and blinked slowly as the words filtered through his mind. Centuries of interpreting the connotations behind the angel’s half statements and indirect words writ the meaning of his intent as clearly as if he had handed Crowley a written invitation with his name in looped calligraphy across the front.  


A shockingly powerful desire threatened to swallow him whole to transport them to the aforementioned bed. A craving to map every curving surface of that angelic body with his hands, with his mouth, with his—  


“Aziraphale.” His voice came out low and husky with feelings long unspoken. He covered the hand on his arm with his own. “I won’t seduce you angel. This will change things between us and I need to be sure that you want it as much as I do.”  


Aziraphale cheeks tinged with pink but looked back at him steadily as he whispered, “Ah, do you…?”  


“Want you?” Crowley’s hand tightened around Aziraphale’s as he angled his head down to look intently into blue eyes. “Yes. For a long time now. But if it’s not what you want I’ll walk out and we can never speak of it again.”  


“Oh Crowley…” Aziraphale breathed. His eyes looked huge, and Crowley thought in that moment he might fall into them endlessly. But this time instead of his fall being a twisted comet of pain perhaps he could dare to hope that it would be of the floating lilt of a feather, drifting slowly down to be cradled in the palm of an angel.  


Aziraphale swayed closer. “I’m— tired of waiting, of _wanting_. For so long I— thought it was only me, that there was something wrong with me wanting you in that way, I—” his words were cut off as Crowley exhaled sharply. Something splintered loose within him as he abruptly pulled Aziraphale into his arms, kissing him with a fervor of pent up desires, of shared longing, of desire that burst between them. If their first kiss tasted of a curling question mark, the languid stretch of exploration, this kiss tasted of the sharp lines of an exclamation point, and an urgent claiming tinged with the edges of _mine_ and _yours.  
_

__

__

Crowley’s hands had enough of the jumper and found their way underneath it, to grasp palmfuls of yielding flesh over the cotton undershirt, fulfilling the need to grasp something firmly to keep Aziraphale from fluttering away. Not that the angel showed any sign of retreat; his hands were wrapped around Crowley’s slim frame holding him just as tightly. He felt the warmth of those hands on his back, one of them even moving downward. A groan escaped the confines of his mouth as he felt the curl of fingers around his arse, causing certain sensations between his legs to increase significantly.  


Aziraphale pulled back, sliding kisses along his jaw. “You lovely, tempting serpent. Will you—?”  


He stepped back, eyes fever bright and lips slightly swollen, his hand held out in offering. Crowley reached out and joined their hands. Like an imprinted duckling he would willingly follow the angel anywhere without hesitation and now that pull was the strongest it had ever been; feeling as if he would step into a pond of holy water if that was what Aziraphale wanted of him. Pale lashes lowered somewhat shyly as he was led towards the back of the bookstore, Crowley having the dim presence of mind to snag the bottle of brandy with a couple of glasses to take along the way.  


Aziraphale opened a plain door and they climbed the stairs to a small flat. He flicked on the light to illuminate a room that was dusty with a handful of old bookshelves as well as random boxes and stacks of books haphazardly stacked everywhere. The bed that Aziraphale had mentioned was a sturdy looking white four poster frame with a pale blue oversized plush comforter brushing the floor.  


As they entered the room Aziraphale’s hand became lax in Crowley’s. The tightly woven weave of desire between them unraveled at the edges as the angel stared at the bed as if he’d never seen such a configuration before and couldn’t for the life of him figure out its purpose. Crowley glanced at him, squeezed his hand lightly and let go, moving past him to set the glasses on top of a stack of boxes. He poured the brandy into them and handed a glass out to Aziraphale, who took a drink and then looked sidelong at the demon.  


Crowley took a long drink and let the sting of the alcohol settle on his tongue before letting it continue its slow burn down his throat. He had feelings more than thoughts. If he could speak of feelings as colors, it would be of the yellow warmth of sunshine tinged with the brilliant white hot blue of divinity, the red of his heart, with fissures of black. He opened his mouth, not sure of what he should say, and was slightly astonished when what came out was “I used to hate Christmas.”  


“Er, what?” Aziraphale said, looking at him in befuddlement at what seemed to be a non sequitur.  


Crowley blinked at his own asinine statement. But he’d started it, so he supposed he should see through. He cleared his throat, which had gotten slightly itchy with the press of emotions inside him that seemed to want to leak outward from his compressed narrow frame.  


“Yeah. The whole business of celebrating His birth even though He got such a shit deal at the end of it all just seemed to suck. He was a good man, one of the best I’ve met; he didn’t deserve that.” he said regretfully. “And it would remind me of what I lost.” He glanced upwards.  


The rigid edges of Aziraphale’s posture softened and he reached out for Crowley’s hand. “Oh, my dear, I never knew. Now I feel terrible about making you help me put up decorations. No wonder you put up such a fuss.”  


Crowley turned to Aziraphale as if rotating to his orbit. He raised Aziraphale’s hand to kiss it, softly, almost reverently, closing his eyes briefly to center himself to find the right words. To calm his own sense of worry crawling with pinprick claws that he would do or say the wrong thing to make Aziraphale push him away. Again.  


He opened his eyes to familiar blue eyes shimmering with a warm light that had the spring green of hope sending curling tendrils around the black streaks in his heart. “See, that’s the thing, angel. You have such a ridiculous enthusiasm for Christmas. I’ve watched your delight in the decorations, seen your determination to look past the commercialism of it all, your inspiration of goodwill towards mankind, the way your eyes sparkle with the lights, the way your cheeks glow when you drag me outside to listen to those bloody off key carolers… I see it differently than I used to. Now Christmas reminds me of what I have, with you.”  


Crowley turned Aziraphale’s hand over to kiss his palm, then placed it on his cheek as he nuzzled into it. “You have no idea how many times I thought about snogging you underneath that stupid mistletoe you always insisted on putting up.”  


“Oh.” Aziraphale breathed, looking at him with luminous eyes. He took a step closer, and hesitated, as if not sure what to do next. Then a considering look came over his face. “That woman you mentioned. How did she… teach you?”  


Crowley blinked, the pinprick worry claws within him stilling. There was a pause like an invisible shudder as they locked eyes, then he said slowly, “To start with, I had to learn to like being touched. I wasn’t used to it, you see, and it was rather… a lot at first.”  


“I… see. And… do you like being touched now?”  


Crowley swallowed hard, the claws twitching. He pushed past the impulse to deny, to expose a vulnerability, but if there was any being in existence he trusted to show his underbelly to it was the angel standing before him. “Yes. Very much.”  


But before tonight they had rarely touched, not much more than the rare handshake or a clasp of a hand on the back in greeting. Merely fleeting glances of skin when handing over a wine glass, or their elbows bumping against each other when sitting on a bench. Not that Crowley had carefully catalogued any of those touches away, of course.  


“Where did she start?”  


Crowley looked down at their joined hands. “Uh, hands first. Seemed the least threatening, I think. Humans shake hands, touch each other with their hands all of the time and think nothing of it. But a simple touch can feel—” he started rubbing his thumbs lightly over Aziraphale’s knuckles. “—very different when done a certain way.”  


“Hmm.” Aziraphale hummed, looking down at their hands. He moved so that his hands were now holding Crowley’s. “Like this?” He mimicked the movement of his thumbs gliding over the top of Crowley’s hands.  


“Yeah.” Crowley’s voice came out low and unsteady.  


Aziraphale continues slow sweeps of his thumb for a long moment, both staring down at their hands as if it was the most fascinating thing in all of creation. “And what about… this?” Aziraphale asked as he turned Crowley’s hand over and traced the lines on his palm with his fingernail.  


Crowley nodded helplessly, his mouth suddenly devoid of moisture. Aziraphale glanced up with a tinge of worry, then whatever he saw in Crowley’s eyes seemed to encourage him. He looked positively pleased with himself as he asked, “After you got used to touching hands, what came next?”  


He licked his lips, trying to will some saliva into existence so he could talk. “I— uh, I think that maybe lips there next.”  


“Ah. Makes sense.” Aziraphale said mildly as if Crowley had just told him the next logical step to putting on his shoes. Crowley watched as the angel raised his hand and placed a kiss onto his palm. The warmth of his breath brushing against his skin made it tingle with a warmth that swiftly crept up his arm and shot through the rest of his corporation. Aziraphale continued kissing his palm, moving his mouth slowly upwards, then pushing Crowley’s sleeve up to lay his lips on the sensitive inside of his wrist, the nerve endings lighting his whole body on fire.  


Crowley shuddered, which caused Aziraphale to pause and look up at him. Desperate to keep the angel going, Crowley blurted out “It’s nice, right there. The uh, touching.”  


A curl of a smile that looked positively lascivious was hidden as Aziraphale bent back down to lavish more attention on his inner wrist. When Crowley felt the wet slide of a tongue darting out to taste him he stopped breathing. Aziraphale seemed content to explore that for a while, the occasional little hum emanating from him. Crowley stood stock still trying to control his trembling as if afraid Aziraphale would take flight like a startled dove with movement. Eventually Aziraphale gave one last lingering press of lips and stood, his eyes bright. His voice came out with low intent as he asked, “What was next in the lesson?”  


Crowley’s breath escaped in a shaky whoosh. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, was he seducing Aziraphale or was it the other way around?  


“I— more touching other… parts.” he blurted.  


Aziraphale’s eyes flicked downward.  


Crowley felt himself turn red and hastily said “Not— that came later. Places like—” _don’t say neck you idiot demon, don’t say neck_ “the neck.” _What?_  


Of course Aziraphale immediately fastened his gaze on Crowley’s neck, which caused Crowley to involuntarily step backwards. Aziraphale stepped forward to mirror him, which caused Crowley to take another step back, and back right into one of the multitude of stacks of books littered around the place. He tripped, and flailed, starting to fall— and then he was caught steadily in arms wrapped around him. He was held halfway to the floor like he was being dipped in a fucking dance move and all he could think was _strong, he’s strong, look how strong_. Aziraphale’s blessed eyes were still locked onto his neck and he was descending down closer, and closer, until those lips were fastened on the pulse of his throat.  


“Nkg!” Crowley gasped out, the tingling jolt of angelic lips on his neck shooting straight down to his groin, his trousers suddenly uncomfortably tight in a particular region. He grasped onto Aziraphale for dear life, helpless against the onslaught of Aziraphale _feasting_ on his neck, latching on wide mouthed, sliding his tongue against his skin, he couldn’t, he couldn’t—  


Crowley growled as a wave of ferocious _hunger_ rolled through him like a billowing darkness. He scrambled to get his feet underneath him. Grasping fistfuls of Aziraphale’s jumper, he pushed him upright and whirling to shove him against the nearest available wall, which turned out to be a bookshelf that wobbled hard as an angelic body was slammed into it. Crowley slammed their mouths together, that frantic hunger pushing him to dive deeply into Aziraphale’s mouth and spread his legs to bracket a wide thigh and grind down urgently to seek friction against his suddenly hard aching cock.  


His senses seemed more acute, the layered scents of the angel of old books, the endless cups of tea, the subtle tang of ink from fountain pens, all overlaid with the smell of _warmth_ , of something celestial as if divinity could have a scent; the slight lingering sharp taste of brandy, somehow of _protection_ — of— of— _Aziraphale_ that fed the rabid teeth biting _need_ raging within him.  


He dimly felt alarm bells caught like cobwebs in his brain, those worry claws scrabbling within him but distantly as if from far away. His roaring need was being fed a flaming oil as Aziraphale matched his fevered pace. Perhaps his mouth was a little too wide, the kiss a little sloppy from inexperience but it was _glorious_ , and he was lit up from the inside with burning, drowning in flames, his hands urgently pulling, grasping, then sliding down between their bodies, searching... Aziraphale made a noise that sounded dismayed and it was as if time suddenly slammed into focus again after stopping. Crowley reared back, his heart pounding as if it actually needed to pump blood— _fuck, I’m too fast, too fast, he’s going to_ — . 

But to his astonishment Aziraphale _pouted_ as if denied a sweet, making a discontented sound deep in his throat as he tried to pull Crowley back to him.  


Aziraphale leaned forward to move his mouth over an angled jaw, his breath hot against the skin as he breathed out “ _More_.”  


Crowley did a peculiar full body twitch, pulling away. “Ngk, erm, tht’s—” the language of man seemed to fail him as those pinprick worry claws became slashing, poised on the edge of shredding his insides.  


Aziraphale looked at him and the heat in his eyes gentled. The hands that had been clutching at him as if holding on for dear life loosened, sliding down the front of Crowley’s waistcoat in a manner that was somehow soothing and possessive all at once. The caress was slow, reverent as if he was touching something beautiful and reveling in the fact that it was _his_. And Crowley realized with a flash of insight that he had never allowed himself to give voice to, that he did belong to the angel, in ways that made him want to kneel at his feet and offer himself up for sacrifice at the altar of that divinity.  


“Crowley.”  


“Nyeah?” he stuttered out.  


“What was next in the lesson?” Aziraphale asked in a low voice, calm but with a breathlessness to it.  


Crowley blinked. The claws retracted as he answered slowly, “Erm, I think there was more touching over clothes for a while…”  


Aziraphale looked up at him through pale eyelashes as he slid a waistcoat button through a buttonhole.  


“Is that right?” Another button slipped through the grasp of fabric.  


Crowley nodded, fascinated by watching the steady progress of silver discs being pushed through black fabric by fingers he never thought to see engaged in that particular act. The waistcoat was left to dangle open and Aziraphale’s brow furrowed slightly as if offended to see the long row of additional buttons down Crowley’s shirt concealing something denied to him underneath. He reached out with his finger, the buttons of the shirt came undone in the wake of his finger as it slid down the center of Crowley's chest. 

“There.” The angel murmured with a note of satisfaction. “I dare say I’ve mastered that particular lesson.” Despite himself, Crowley felt a twinge of amusement at Aziraphale’s declaration; clearly he felt no need to linger on a lesson he found boring.  


Aziraphale tugged Crowley’s shirt out of his trousers and pushed it off, letting it drop to the floor. He paused to take in the sight of Crowley’s bare chest then said in a sigh, “Let me see you, I want to see _all_ of you.”  


Crowley’s hands automatically went to his belt buckle to obey the angel’s plea. He unfastened it, then pushed down his trousers and pants in one motion, kicking his boots and the remainder of his clothing off under Aziraphale’s heated gaze.  


“Oh, look at you. You’re so _lovely_.”  


“M’ not.” Crowley said automatically. He knew he was all sharp edges and angles both inside and out. Outwardly handsome perhaps, but not lovely, not in the way Aziraphale was looking at him, in a way that felt as delicate as the cradle of fingers around a morning glory unfurling its petals to the sun. As if he was something to be cherished.  


“Oh, but you are my darling.” Aziraphale breathed as he stepped forward and reached out a hand to splay across Crowley’s chest. His palm felt like a brand against his skin, a sear of ownership as he slowly pushed.  


“What was the next lesson? This? Touching your bare skin?” He pushed Crowley backwards until the back of his legs hit the bed, then farther still until Crowley was on the bed, the angel following to lie alongside him.  


“Tell me. Tell me, where did she touch you next?” Aziraphale whispered, his voice low with an undercurrent of urgency clinging to the edges.  


_Angel._ Crowley tried to say, but the words got lodged in his throat. All he can do is take in the way Aziraphale is looking at him, drinking in that adoration pouring from his eyes until he felt as if he might choke on it.  


“Was it here?” he moved his hand to slide down the length of Crowley’s arm. “Here?” A sliding glide from his collarbone to his hip as Crowley inhaled sharply underneath him. “Perhaps here?” Farther down still, dragging fingers along the top of a thigh dusted with ginger hairs. He stopped there, fingers angled inwards and moving slightly against an inner thigh.  


_“Tell me.”_ he crooned with breathless insistence.  


The parts of his skin that the angel had touched burned, as if the nerve endings there were brought to life after a long sleep, pinprick sharp tingles in its wake.  


For the life of him, Crowley no longer had any idea of the particular order in which his first foray into intimacy happened, and he didn’t really care. His mind flailed to pick a location to ask to be touched, of course instantly thinking of the part of him that was achingly hard but shied away from that— _too soon, he needed to savor this, capture these moments with both taloned hands and hold tight—_ so he gestured in a sort of erratic hand flapping way to his chest.  


“Here.”  


Aziraphale smiled as delightedly as if Crowley had handed him a berry tartlet and slid his hand over and around his torso. Crowley shuddered underneath that press of gliding palm as Aziraphale took his time to explore every exposed stretch of skin with an almost unbearable tenderness that itched at his skin just as much as soothed it. Impulsively, Aziraphale leaned down and kissed Crowley’s bare chest, at which the demon breathed in sharply and murmured, “Yes, that. Do more.” Aziraphale smiled against his skin and complied, trailing open mouthed kisses along the skin but when his lips brushed against a nipple and Crowley hissed he looked up in concern.  


“Oh, dear, did I do it wrong?”  


“Gah, Heaven, no— just—” Crowley took a deep breath. “I liked it very much. Do it again?”, uncomfortably aware that he probably failed to keep an embarrassing tinge of need from his voice.  


“Hmm.” Aziraphale looked up at him with a bit of mischief sparking in his eyes. “How does this lesson go?”  


Crowley’s lips twitched. _Bastard_. “Uh. right. Like you’re kissing me, with your tongue, but there…. oh, _yes_ , that’s— that’s good— now suck at me, but not too hard, _aaaahhhh..._ ”  


He arched his back as Aziraphale followed his instructions with enthusiasm, even wiggling with delight at the sounds Crowley was making. His tongue relentlessly explored the tight pebbled nub of both of Crowley’s nipples until it was too much— he needed— he pulled at Aziraphale urgently, hungrily capturing the angel’s mouth.  


“My turn, _mine_ —” Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s jumper, pushing it and the undershirt up, but then paused when he realized that Aziraphale had gone still.  


He looked up into blue eyes and saw an expression of uneasy hesitation.  


“Shit. Sorry, I—” he pulled his hands back as if they were on fire but Aziraphale quickly caught them, pressing a kiss to his fingers.  


“It’s not that my dear. I don’t mind you undressing me. It’s that, erm, I’m not— I don’t ah, present the same way you do— maybe I can’t—”  


Crowley raised an eyebrow, relief sliding through him. “Do you have something down there other than the standard issue equipment? Tentacles? Ooo, I wanna see.”  


“What?” Aziraphale spluttered. “Certainly not. Everything is the proper way just as Adam had, I can assure you. It’s not— you have—“ he gestured helplessly to the prominent erection curving up to Crowley’s flat abdomen. “—I don’t know if I can achieve the same, um, state.” he said, flustered.  


Crowley curled his fingers around Aziraphale’s. “I told you, we’re of the same stock. You can. I’ll help you?” he asked hopefully.  


Aziraphale nodded, his eyes steady on Crowley.  


He put his hands back to Aziraphale’s waistcoat. “May I?”  


Aziraphale took a breath and nodded again, sitting up to help remove his clothes. Their hands kept getting in the way of each other which prompted breathless laughter and Crowley to nuzzle into the crinkle at the corner of Aziraphale’s eye. After the last layer was removed, Crowley delightedly kissed away the angel’s moue of annoyance as he shoved the clothing to the floor to let it lie in a heap. After indulging in a deep kiss, Crowley pulled back to let his eyes drink their fill of Aziraphale’s unclothed body. Aziraphale fidgeted uneasily under the scrutiny of Crowley’s golden gaze which snapped back up to his face.  


“Oh angel.” he breathed, cupping Aziraphale’s face in his hands reverently. “I see you. You’re beautiful. _I see you._ ”  


Pink stained Aziraphale’s cheeks and the top of his chest as he looked away, his earlier confidence taking flight like sparrows.  


“None of that now.” Crowley said softly, lifting Aziraphale’s chin with the tips of his fingers. “It’s me. Don’t be embarrassed. Not with me.” And then he scooted closer, and there was touching. So much glorious _touching_. Finally, _finally_ , moving across that angelic body, sliding across flat surfaces, cupping around curves, his hands in constant motion as if they couldn’t help trying to touch everywhere at once.  


Crowley’s mouth moved hot against Aziraphale’s neck as he said “Close your eyes and think about feeling only me, my mouth, my hands, my body against your skin.”  


Aziraphale nodded. He had an anticipatory shiver as he closed his eyes, and softly gasped as Crowley’s body covering him. They melded together, lean angles fitting into soft curves like the soft click of a final puzzle piece so that the picture was suddenly, beautifully complete. _Oh_ so much of their skin was pressed against each other it felt positively _sinful_. And as Crowley moved against him Aziraphale moved back, his hands reaching out to caress everywhere they could reach.  


He trailed kisses along the angel’s neck, where he swirled his tongue and sucked in a manner that caused Aziraphale to move restlessly underneath him. Crowley felt immersed in indulgence, being allowed, even encouraged to _touch_ as much as he wanted. To lick into Aziraphale’s mouth, to move his hands in gliding caresses sliding down the angel’s arms, his legs, his torso, through his hair… he worked his way down slowly, exploring the rounded neck, the line of the collarbone, the curling scattered chest hairs against his cheek, then lower still to enclose his mouth over broad pink nipples that tightened under his flicking tongue.  


Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open in surprise, then slid shut again with a breathy moan. He realized he was feeling a sensation similar to the tightening of his nipples begin to gather between his legs, a rising kind of pleasurable restlessness that was new to him. One of those roving hands slid his hand in between the angel’s legs, causing Aziraphale to arch underneath him, and Crowley smiled against his skin.  


“Almost there angel…” he whispered. Fingers slid into wiry pale curls, cupping around bollocks that were starting to tighten and lift, gently caressing, then wrapped around the angel’s burgeoning erection. He began stroking while applying his mouth to the broad angelic chest.  


Aziraphale gasped as his hips twitched up instinctively. He had never been touched there before, even by himself other than the occasional necessary trouser adjustments— he would never understand why togas went out of fashion— and it felt… _really_ good... a tightness, a kind of intense heated pressure…  


Crowley pulled back to watch him, golden eyes half lidded. He watched the proof that _he_ was making those breathless moans tumble from Aziraphale’s lips, not a savory morsel, a sweet nibble, a flavorful sip. This time those _sounds_ , those glorious sounds were all for _him_. Aziraphale’s hips made small, abortive movements, as if they didn’t quite know how to chase the pleasure of Crowley’s fist but were making an valiant effort to try.  


“Angel… feel me touching you, feel how much I want you,” he lowered his head to press open mouthed kisses against that arching neck as his voice lowered to the barest of whispers “...feel how much I adore you…”  


At those words Aziraphale cried out as he felt a full erection for the first time in his existence, but it was too much, too intense… he made a strangled sound and started shaking, clutching at the demon. Crowley immediately moved his hand away and gathered Aziraphale in his arms, murmuring “It’s okay angel, it will get easier, take slow deep breaths, open your eyes and look at me, I’m here for you…”  


Aziraphale opened his eyes with some effort and looked into Crowley’s golden gaze, panting.  


“Hey there. Told you so.” Crowley said with a self satisfied smirk.  


Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head, Crowley.” he said, his voice breathless and choppy.  


“Too late. I fully plan on continuing to show you how right I was repeatedly and often just to stroke my ego.” He moved his hand down to brush along the top of Aziraphale’s thigh. “And stroke _other things_ , of course.” he said with a leer.  


“I don’t know why your ego has to play into this.” Aziraphale said indignantly.  


“It doesn’t, really, but it helped distract you sufficiently so that you’re no longer on sensory overload.” Crowley pointed out reasonably.  


_“Oh.”_ Aziraphale said, looking down at himself in wide eyed surprise to regard a thick erection jutting upwards.  


Crowley flicked his tongue out to the shell of the ear next to him and murmured “You seem to be a much faster learner than I was. I—would you like to continue, uh, the lessons? I don’t know if you want—”  


Aziraphale turned his head to and raised his hand to caress the sharp cheekbone next to his. “Oh, make no mistake, my dear, my demon, I _want_.”  


Lashes shuttered down briefly over snake slit eyes in a tight squeeze, then opened again. Crowley reached out and wrapped his hand around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, his thumb rubbing circles at the base of his skull. This time as they kissed the exclamation point turned into a comma, a promise of a continuation of the long sentence of their lives. The comma curled around and through them, in the press of their lips, in the curl of their tongues, in the long planes of how their bodies fit together between one word and the next.  


The comma stretched out, elongated, as Crowley began moving downwards. He mouthed hungry and open mouthed along a wide neck, farther down still to swirl his tongue against taut nipples, making the angel arch and moan underneath him. Trailing his mouth over the swell of a rounded belly dusted with fine white hairs, his tongue flicking out to taste. Then down further still, pressing kisses reverently along the newly hard length, causing Aziraphale to inhale sharply.  


Crowley looked up, golden eyes locked on him as he positioned his hand at the base and then slowly lowered the heat of his mouth around him.  


Aziraphale’s eyes rolled up as he felt like he was about to leap out of his skin. The overwhelming sensations he had felt earlier paled in comparison to this—this— astonishing sliding heat that enveloped him. The demon’s hand was assisting the sliding pressure, somehow strong and firm and gentle all at once. The demon’s tongue was _licking_ at that increasingly sensitive part of him that was unused to these _sensations_ — _oh_ it was on the edge of being unbearable. That warm pressure was moving up and down, and oh, _sweet Heaven_. The feeling centered in his groin was increasing— he shook his head frantically, sitting up and pulling at the auburn head below his waist, gasping out, “ _Crowley!_ I— it’s too much, I can’t—!”  


Crowley lifted off and drew himself up to sit on his knees to wrap his arms around the shaking angel.  


“It’s okay, angel.” he murmured. “What you’re feeling is normal. Don’t fight it, let it happen. Think of it like a wave that has to climb to a peak before crashing.”  


Aziraphale shook his head. “I—I don’t know if I can—”  


“You can, trust me. Try to relax, you’re too tense.”  


Aziraphale laughed half hysterically, clutching at Crowley. Relaxing seemed utterly impossible, the demon was clearly insane to suggest it.  


Crowley ran his hands along the angel’s back. “I have an idea. Bring out your wings.”  


“What? Why? Did you do that with your uh, teacher?”  


“Why angel, do I detect a note of jealousy for a woman long since turned to dust?” Crowley said, amusement coloring his voice.  


“Absolutely not.” Aziraphale said snippily, his tone without a doubt indicating otherwise.  


Crowley chuckled, still caressing Aziraphale’s back. “No, I didn’t. But I think it will help you to relax if you’re in your true form.” He leaned down to nuzzle the angel’s neck and whispered, “Besides, I’ve often thought about… touching them.”  


_“Oh.”_ Aziraphale looked at him from under his lashes and said, “Well, in that case...”  


Crowley moved back and Aziraphale got up on his knees and released his wings; the snow white feathers gleaming in the soft light. The tension eased from his shoulders as he rolled his head a little, stretching his wings back. Crowley made an abortive movement towards him, then sat back, his hands clasped in his lap.  


Aziraphale gave him a small smile and tilted his head, murmuring, “Well, come on then.”  


Crowley held his breath and sat up to reach out his hands to run his hands along the top edges, tracing the shape downwards. He reverently pressed his lips to a wing and whispered “Oh, Aziraphale. Beautiful.”  


Aziraphale closed his eyes as Crowley ran his fingers gently through the impossible softness, unable to resist the temptation to straighten a few feathers along the way. He placed another kiss to a wing and sighed, “I could do just this until Easter, but…” He moved to the head of the bed, where he sat leaning against the headboard with his legs apart and knees bent. He reached out to draw Aziraphale to him, positioning him so that the angel was resting with his back against Crowley’s chest, wings splayed out to the side, Crowley’s arms and legs surrounding him. He murmured against the angel’s ear “Keep your eyes closed, feel only me, try to relax onto me…”  


He held Aziraphale close to him and ran his hand down his arm and his front in gentle sweeping caresses. He pressed kisses to the side of the angel’s face. His hands moved up and down the broad torso, caressed the rounded belly, moved down to the tops of wide thighs, briefly skimming the tips of his fingers on the inner thighs before moving away and starting at the top again. He repeated this caressing dance over, and over, each time his fingers sliding farther and farther down between the angel’s thighs.  


Aziraphale shifted restlessly, wanting… wanting… his thighs fell open in unconscious invitation and his buttocks clenched whenever those wandering fingers slid just a little closer. He arched with a gasp when the backs of fingers brushed that part of him increasingly aching to be touched… his movements became more restless, he could hardly keep still; even his wings were shifting in small irregular flutters when that infuriatingly tantalizing hand _finally_ slid over his hard shaft and paused before slowly stroking.  


“Give yourself to me angel.” Crowley murmured. “Let go and give into the sensations…. don’t fight it… ride it out… I’m right here with you, always…”  


Aziraphale leaned back into the body behind him. The intense pleasure was mounting again; rhythmic moans escaped him unbidden and he fought his rising panic by trying to focus on Crowley’s voice. His hands flailed outwards, finding Crowley’s thighs and curling around them as if holding on for dear life.  


The undulating rhythm of Crowley’s hand spread through Aziraphale until it felt as if the very blood pulsing through his corporation was matching it. There was a distant realization in the back of his mind of finally fully understanding that _this_ is why humans did this. _Goodness_ , how was it they ever managed to get anything ever done at all rather than spend all of their time writhing on the sheets? …and then all semblance of thought fled him as the feeling centered in his groin steadily increased to an impossible level.  


He tensed, his eyes squeezing tight, he couldn’t handle it, it was too much, he couldn’t let go…  


And then Crowley’s voice was surrounding him, the demon pressed his legs and free arm more tightly around him, grounding him, moaning out as if he was the one being touched so intimately. “You can do it, just let go… let me take care of you… angel, _angel_ , you are so fucking gorgeous like this, please, give yourself to me...”  


__And _ah_ , there it was. His head lolled to the side to press up against the cheek of the demon cradling him. He couldn’t let go for himself, but he could give himself to the demon who was wrapped around him as much as he could in his human form. Who _wanted_ this of him, _with_ him...  
_ _

And then that mounting pressure became electric, a charge that caused all of his muscles to squeeze tight, sounds tumbling from his lips. “Ah, ah, ah, _oh_ my dearest, oh, oh— _Crowley!_ ” He cried out as the climax rose up and took him. Not a wave like Crowley had described but an incandescent white hot strike of lightning that caused his back to arch and hips snap uncontrollably into the demon’s hand, taken over by pure pleasure the likes of which he had never imagined.  


As the sensations slowly ebbed he collapsed back into Crowley’s arms. He was twitching with small aftershocks, breathing heavily while Crowley held him tightly.  


After some time he turned a little to look at Crowley. “How in the bloody _Hell_ did I manage to go so long without that?” he demanded.  


Crowley barked out a surprised laugh, his chest shaking as he started laughing.  


“You… are… such… a… bloody hedonist.” he wheezed out in between laughing pants. “Oh, blessed fuck, I can see I’m in for it now. I wonder if I’m gonna regret giving you your first lesson. Watch out England!”  


“You say that as if I would ever have the _slightest_ inclination to do this with anyone but you!” Aziraphale snapped, sitting up and turning to glare at Crowley.  


Crowley’s laugh died on his lips as he took in the narrowed blue eyes sparking with something divine igniting in their depths.  


Aziraphale looked away and said, “I’m sorry Crowley. If you don’t want to then we can forget this ever—”  


As Aziraphale started to move away Crowley’s eyes lunged forward. “Oh no you don’t!” There was a momentary shuffle as he tried to get up and maneuver around Aziraphale’s wings, which was a bit of a struggle until Aziraphale put his wings away. He regarded Crowley with a certain amount of wariness laid over uncertainty.  


Crowley straddled Aziraphale’s lap and took his face into his hands to look earnestly into those storm blue eyes, trying to convey his urgent need to reassure him, to give him the smallest amount of the overwhelming emotions he had jostling for dominance within him. “Hey. I want to. Holy Heaven tap dancing saints I _absolutely_ do. I just— _yes_. If you want to.”  


Aziraphale softened as he smiled up at him. “Well… it is Christmas after all.”  


Crowley furrowed his brow. “That still doesn’t make any more sense than when you said it the first time.”  


“Are you complaining about the end result?”  


“... no.”  


“Then shut up and kiss me you foul fiend. Because now it’s time for you to teach me how you like to be touched.” Aziraphale said, his eyes darkening with intent, the comma sliding into an ellipsis, as he pulled Crowley to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been requested to add another chapter to this story, which I am going to work on after I finish my work in progress story, "Cinders Bound by Golden Crown". I won't update the chapter count until I actually write it, but subscribe if you are interested!
> 
> _Other Good Omens stories of mine:[An Opportune Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609303/chapters/54034240), 2 chapter spicy fluff about Crowley and Aziraphale's first time being intimate together, if you like that sort of thing. Which I do. Which is why I wrote it. _
> 
> _[Cinders Bound by Golden Crown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26175502/chapters/63693454) , a 22 chapter Good Omens Cinderella historical fic. _
> 
> _[Jagged Edge of Seduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989973/chapters/54963736), a 18 chapter story about the progression of their relationship. It starts out a bit dark so it's not for everyone._
> 
> _I love to chat about anything Good Omens; my writing, your writing, whether or not ducks have ears...! Feel free to chat or follow me on Tumblr: @ajconstantine;[AJ Constantine](https://ajconstantine.tumblr.com/) or on Discord: AJ Constantine#0325_


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